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Topic: Welcome to Purgatory (Read 17461 times)

APRIL, 1887 - "Whoa, Smoke," Daniel Thorn said, pulling gently on the reigns. He gazed out on the land before him. This part of Arizona wasn't all sandy desert, but there still wasn't much. A mud hole of a river snaked across the rocky sand, dotted with a few shrubs and gnarled trees on the banks. Mountains and smooth buttes were visible on the horizon in the orange morning sun. And a mile down the creek was a town, as dusty and rugged as the Mojave Desert. It wasn't a big town, but it was larger than some of the ghosted boom towns Thorn had seen before. It looked unremarkable, all in all. But there was something to interest Daniel: a job. Thorn spurred his gray-haired mare onward.

The swing doors of Gaver's Cantina creaked open and in walked a tall man with a gray hat. The bar, the largest in town, was sparsely populated, not unusual for being early as it was. Only Jim Dillard sat at the counter, a glass of cheap whiskey in his hand. Tom Gaver sat behind the counter cleaning glasses. The tall man's spurs clinked against the roughshod wooden floor as he walked. He pulled up a stool to Jim's right. Jim hardly noticed, concerned mostly with his drink. "Water," the man said hoarsely. Tom nodded and went to a barrel. Jim turned."Ain't seen you before," Jim said as friendly as he could.The man nodded. "First time here." Jim looked him over. The butt of a pistol was visible on his right side, and what looked like a shotgun was slung in a pouch on his back. Tom placed a glass of brown water before him. The man picked it up with a gloved hand and tossed it back like a shot.Jim raised his glass to his lips. "And what brings you to Purgatory, Mister...""Thorn," he rasped. "Dan Thorn. And I'm here for you."Jim paused and lowered his glass. "'Scuse me?"Thorn turned. "You Jim Dillard, right?" Jim gave a short nod. There was no sense in denying it; the man clearly knew who he was. "You're wanted in Texas for murder. I'm gonna bring you in."Jim's eyes narrowed. "Now hold on," he said, trying to stay calm. "Maybe we can work somethin' out. I got plenty o' money here."Thorn shook his head. "Your bounty's higher anything you got. Fact, you'd be dead right now if you wasn't worth more alive than not."Jim opened his mouth to reply, but was cut short by the sound of the door opening again. Four men entered, laughing among themselves. One of the spotted Jim, pointed to him, and the four headed over. One of them, a broad-shouldered rough with a long moustache, leaned on Jim's chair. "Mornin', Jim," the man said loudly, flashing a yellowed smile. He took Jim's whiskey and tossed it back, slamming the empty glass on the counter. "What's new?"Jim gave a relieved sigh. "Isaac, am I glad to see you," he said, letting out a laugh. "This dude here says he's gonna take me back to Texas."Isaac Wheeler's thick eyebrows shot up. "Is that right? Who is this guy, anyway?""Says his name's Dan Thorn." Tom Gaver watched them carefully, standing at the other end of the counter.Isaac leaned over toward Thorn. "So," his lips turned in a cruel lopsided grin, "You wanna bring my friend Jim here back to Texas? Why's that?"Thorn didn't bother to turn to face him. "He killed three men in Amarillo. Governor wants him back for a hangin'."Wheeler leaned back, his expression shifting to a caracitured confusion. "Three men? Why he just killed two Chinee and a Mexican. Ain't right callin' 'em men." His comrades chuckled.Thorn didn't. He turned and faced Wheeler. "I don't much care for the legalities of it," he said. "But I do intended to bring Jim Dillard in."Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sweat condensing on his brow. Wheeler took a step back, a low laugh coming from his throat. "Well I have a problem with that, Mr. Thorn," he said lightly. "Jim here's a friend o' mine. The thought of him away from Purgatory - well, it brings a tear to my eye." His cronies laughed again. Thorn's hand slowly reached for his iron. Wheeler's, however, already had it drawn. He cocked back the hammer on the Colt. "So I suggest you drop the matter.""N-now hold on, boys," a voice stammered. Tom Gaver stepped cautiously toward them, his hands held piously in the air. "I don't want no trouble in my bar."Wheeler snorted, his grin widening. "Oh, ain't gonna be no trouble, Mr. Gaver. Unless Dan Thorn here makes some.""Well, now, way I sees it, trouble's a two way street," Tom said shakily. "An' I know you and your boys seem to find trouble right frequently. Now my cook Josephus has a Winchester rifle trained on your head right now, an' I gotta tell ya," he said with a chuckle, "he a d**ned good shot, too. Ain't that right, Joe?"From the kitchen window behind the counter, a black man stood with rifle aimed squarely at Isaac Wheeler. "Oh, yessuh, they teach you to shoot real good in the Army," he said evenly."Well that's right, Joe was in the Army," Tom nodded. "S-so why don't we just put up them irons and keep trouble outta my bar?"Wheeler froze, his eyes moving from Tom to Joe to Thorn. Jim felt a jab in his side. Thorn's own Smith & Wesson was pressed against his ribs. Thorn's gaze stayed on Wheeler. "I thought you said I was worth more alive than dead," Jim whispered hoarsely."Not by much," Thorn replied, staring unblinkingly at Wheeler. Slowly, the aggressor lowered his pistol. Dan slowly pulled his gun out of Dillard's side, and Josephus dropped the rifle from his trained eye, though it was still pointed in their direction.Wheeler snorted. "Like I said, Tom, no trouble." He jerked his head toward the door. "C'mon, boys, we gotta better things to do." His cronies, along with Jim, sauntered toward the door. Wheeler followed behind them, but stopped in the doorway. "Oh, and Thorn?" he said. "You better get your hide outta this town." With that, he exited.Dan sighed. He turned to Tom. "Thanks," he said simply.Tom eyed him. "Everybody gets one," he muttered. He nodded to Joe, who lowered the rifle and disappeared back into the recesses of the kitchen.Dan Thorn finished off the rest of his water. Maybe Purgatory had more in store than he thought.

[OOC: Please post in the starter thread before posting here. The starter thread can be found here. I'll respond to make sure your character fits in the setting, then you can go nuts. Thank ye kindly. ]

There was a man hidden in the shadows that had watched this whole spectacle.

John Aicrin was a lonely man. His parents were alchoholics so he was on the streets at about 13 because his they kicked him out. His parents weren't really parents any way, they just gave birth to him and kept on partyin' leaving John to fend for himself all his life. He never ate much and drank occasionally because his parents never fed him so he learned to go without food for very long. John took great interest in this stranger because rarely anybody came to Purgatory.

He walked up to the bar and said to the man "A bounty hunter eh'. Well it's about time we got a law inforcer in this town, even if he's a temporary one. This place is filled with crooks." John paused, "So your lookin' for Jim Dillard huh? Well if the stories I've heard about him are true, that scum deserves to be hung...... I can ya' help find im' if ya' want, I know every section of this town by heart and it just so happens that I know where he and his buddies like to hang out besides this place." John stopped and waited for a comment.

OOC: I hope you don't mind me jumping in Dozus.

Logged

"Now that I am older, the only thing I know for certain is that I know nothing for certain." -Artemis Entreri

"New things are like a new pair of underwear. At first it's constricting but then it becomes a part of you."- Garth Algar (played by Dana Carvey)

"Men wanted! Good pay! Free food! Get famous! Must be willing to travel long distances. Those interested, should ask Fat Joe for Colonel Samagriolla or his assistant, Jacopo. Drunks, excessive womanizers, and criminals need not apply!"

"Be a part of an exciting expedition, into the great unknown! None other than Colonel Salvatore Samagriolla, the world-famous explorer of darkest Africa and exotic India, beckons you to join his western crusade!"

some graffiti below that sign:

"No drunks, womanizers, or criminals? Aint no one left then Mister Sal Magrilla"

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Zeb watched the gun ride into town, just another good-fer-nothin' looking for someone. Maybe he'll just get drunk and start a fight instead of killing someone. Zeb looked up at the mines for a bit and wondered to himself if he shouldn't take up that Salminella up on his offer, this town's dead anyway, just a while before it 'fesses up. Still no gunfire, that means the guy's probably getting drunk right now, maybe I'll go talk to him, see what's going on in the outside now.

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

The Colonel and the Dwarf, as Fat Joe called the odd pair behind their backs, were poring over maps spread out on a rickity table in the Hot-As-Hell saloon. Every so often, the Colonel would point to a spot on a map, and the dwarf would scribble some notes in his yellowed journal. This was their third day in Purgatory, and second night in the Hot-As-Hell's finest upstairs room (which wasnt saying much).

Fat Joe was intrigued by this weird pair and just kept right on polishing the same mug over and over again, trying to catch snatches of the duo's conversation. The mustached colonel was difficult to understand at first. He spoke with a thick lilting accent and combined with his animated body language, it sounded to Joe, as if the colonel was singing, rather than talking.

The dwarf, Jacopo by name, spoke with an effortless missouran clack. In fact, while the Colonel refered to his travelling secretary as Jacopo, the dwarf introduced himself as Jack when he had first met Fat Joe.

"....expedition to explore the prehistoric Sinaguan ruin called "Montezuma's Castle" on Beaver Creek in the Verde Valley. What say you?", Samagriolla was writing this as he said it.

"I reckon its as good place as any to start...not the Onyx mine?", the dwarf replied

"No, gnomo, we will proceed to Beaver Creek. It is settled then. Perfetto!"

"How many men this time?", the dwarf continued seemingly bored

"Asperte...How many do you have so far?"

"None"

"then four or five more will do. Speak to that eaves-dropping barkeep, or make your way around town, your chatty...Allora!" Samagriolla began rolling up his maps, and glaring at Jacopo.

The dwarf, refusing to be rushed, slid casually off the table, meandered his way to the bar, ordered and gulped down a whiskey, and only then made his way outside, out of the shadowy taproom and into the light.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Daniel finished his water, tossed a nickel on the counter, and walked out of Gaver's Cantina. Collecting a bounty would be harder than he thought. And there was another problem: he was broke. "Last time I gamble in Phoenix," he muttered to himself.

As he walked down the dusty street, a window sign caught his eye. He stepped forward to read it, his lips moving silently. He stumbled over the foreign name, but it sounded like a good enough offer. The pay would be enough for a bunk, and the food would keep him from starving while he figured out a way to corner Jim Dillard. He sighed. Taking jobs from whacked-out foreigners who thought they were famous was not normally Dan's style, but in this case, he'd have to make an exception.

As he stepped for the door, a very short man sauntered out. He looked up at Dan briefly, grunted, then went on his way. Wakantanka help me, he thought silently. He stepped into the Hotter-Than-Hell saloon--aptly named, it seemed--and walked up to the bar. The bartender, a heavyset man wearing overalls and a bowtie, looked him over. "You know where I can find a Mister Gorilla?" Thorn asked.

"Sa-Ma-Gree-O-La", he corrected immediately. Sal had hired many men over the years to accompany him on his lunatic travels, and he had learned to size-up and judge men quickly...This one looked serious. That could be good or bad, Sal thought.

"I am Colonel Salvatore Samagriolla, famous explorer", he puffed his chest. "Perhaps you have heard of me? no! mon dio! well, no matter.

"If you would join me for some Whiskey? Abbastanza bueno? You need work yes?"

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Elihu Burritt had been watching the man, the Italian, Magrilla. At first, he had supposed the man was Mexican, but something about his name and speech didn't quite fit right, and he wasn't dark enough to be Mexican. After thinking about it, Elihu supposed this Magrilla was Italian. He didn't know much about Italians or even Italy, but he knew enough to know that this man was quite clearly out of his mind. Burritt had, after all, shot his share of madmen in his day- the desert had a way of doing that to people.

He was no lawman (though he had, of course, been part of a posse before), but he didn't like madmen. He knew madmen. Madmen did things. Madmen killed women and burned things. Elihu Burritt didn't know what it was that led him to Purgatory (in which he had been about two days), but he was old enough to be sure that God worked in mysterious ways (just like that jack preacher in Tombstone always said while he was scamming the grubby tradesmen), and maybe the weird itching in Elihu's heart was telling him that he should reign in this Magrilla before the European did any serious damage.

The best way for a sherriff to run off outlaws, Elihu had learned, was to get a man inside their pack. Elihu supposed he would be the inside man.He emerged from the shadows of the saloon and came to a seat closer to the Italian (who was conversing with some dusty traveler). He looked pointedly towards the man's maps, trying to pick up some details... Strange routes, strange places. Elihu would have to wait and find out the hard way.

Grabbing his coat Zeb walked out of his shack and into the town. That crazy that was offering work, Salminella or whatever, seemed like what he needed to get out of this deadsville. Finally reaching the Hotter-than-Hell Saloon, Zeb stopped for a bit to watch the dwarf walk away. When he walked in he saw one of the newer faces in town, just another of the good-for-nothing wanderers that fill up this town, standing by the table as the Italian walked over to the bar. Zeb walked over and stood next to the wanderer.

"Yer' d**n straight its hot in here. No wonder Injuns is red," Elihu volunteered in a low, raspy voice, his eyes resting lightly on Magrilla. His statement was oddly lacking in humour."Mister Salma-greeya," Elihu said (pronouncing the name like a Mexican), "I'm sure yer' a busy man an' all, but this here is America, and we don't like waiting around in America. I need work."He needs work," the man said, indicating Daniel, "an' he needs work too." Elihu indicated Zeb. "We all three need work, otherwise, wouldn't be here, would we?"Do people in... Italy? Hang around and gape at strange folks all day long when they could be workin'."

Elihu stopped abruptly. He hadn't meant to be so forward. He might have just nixed his chances to tail the man.

Sal did not appreciate the dangerous tone of the newcomer, and was a little taken aback by three men staring at him at once. Recovering somewhat, he addressed the "American Cowboys".

"What is the meaning of this outburst good man? Asperte, Asperte...let us all talk then. Let us all talk."

Sal had heard all the stories of the impatient, gun-itchy westerners, but now was experiencing the "American Way" up close and personal. It made him nervous. He wished Jacopo was here. The carnival dwarf had a way with speaking the native tongue. Sal didnt. As he travelled the New World, Sal had often found his European ways, and more specifically his high-strung, bossy Italian nature was not quite congenial to the scarily individualistic nature of the American Cowboy. These men did not appreciate superior, noble sentiment. They appreciated money...and whiskey.

"It is true, how you say?...I am looking to hire good men. Guiseppe, er..ahh Joe, a bottle of your best whiskey and four glasses, Pronto!"

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Daniel pulled out a chair and sat down in it backwards. He eyed the two newcomers. Neither of them seemed particuarly professional, but he'd worked long enough in the Frontier to distrust first impressions. "Now Mister Samo... Colonel, what exactly did you have in mind 'bout this 'expedition?'" he asked. Joe came out from the bar and placed a moderately cheap (but still probably his best) bottle of whiskey and four shot glasses on the table. "I gotta tell you, I've been 'round these parts a few times. Ain't much out there, unless you know something I don't." And he probably don't, he thought wryly.

"Shore I'll join you. But if it's good men you want, well suh, you're lookin' a bit too fa' west. Round here in Purgatory we only got two types o' people really. Cut throats and murderers." Zeb stopped for a second and looked at the others, "Not that I'm sayin' anything 'bout you two fine gentlemen."

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Jack Thurn pushed through the door of the bar, a winchester rifle in his hands. The butt was splattered with still wet blood of its previous owner. Jack's mouth was in a wide grin, as it always was, as he looked about the gruff populace of the gloomy bar. He looked completely oblivious to the obvious hostility surrounding him.

"What a cheery bunch we've got here!" he thought aloud in a lively tone. He continued further into the bar smiling happily.

Then he raised the rifle in the air and announced, "How much will somebody give me for this? It's still got bullets in it!"